


Floor 7

by protectginozasquad



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Hospitals, M/M, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Illness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, asylum AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectginozasquad/pseuds/protectginozasquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginoza, overwhelmed and hopeless, meets a strange character during his most recent hospital visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Illness Is Watching, Waiting Its Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys. I have a thing about mental illness. As in, normalizing mental illness is sort of a thing for me. Why can't our favorite fictional characters be mentally ill? They could be! So this is an AU where Kougami and Ginoza meet while they're both institutionalized. Kougami has bipolar type I ultra rapid-cycling, Ginoza has major depressive disorder and panic disorder, he comes in after a failed suicide attempt. This fic has heavy overtones to it, so read with care, although hopefully it shows how you can find hope in these places. I have bipolar disorder and PTSD and my husband has bipolar disorder and panic disorder, and I'm familiar with these situations. Kougami is going to have hallucinations in here somewhere, which are due to a severe, uncontrolled manic episode. I am not being flippant in any way about mental illness in here. It's so real and so important for people to know about.

Ginoza’s been here before. The siren is buzzing faintly in his ear and his face assaulted with lights, loud, everything is so loud. 

He hadn’t made it. They had gotten to him in time. Tears gather in his eyes. 

He doesn’t know who had called this time, probably Risa. He loves Risa, she is such a good friend, but she doesn't _understand._ She doesn’t understand the kind of anguish he is in. He knows that people love him, but the darkness is so overwhelming. Why can’t they understand?

He’s wheeled on the stretcher into the emergency room, where everything is even louder, even brighter, shuffled into a temporary room. They give him liquid charcoal this time, no need for a stomach pump. That’s a relief. He downs the charcoal in one gulp, throws the styrofoam cup to the side, knowing that there isn’t anything left to do but wait it out. They’ll let him out again, eventually. 

After puking up the pills into the garbage, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, it comes away black. It tastes like liquid garbage. It tastes just like something he should be eating. 

After another half an hour, a check on his vitals, and a check on his wrists - no cuts this time, the pills had seemed like enough - they send him up to his usual place - Floor 7, the psychiatric unit. 

+++

He shifts on the chair uncomfortably, not wanting to be looked at. “I’m Ginoza,” he says, to a circle of metal folding chairs, occupied by misfits like him. 

“Hi Ginoza,” the group chants at him quietly. 

His hospital gown is comfortable, but barely registers it. 

“Can I go back to bed now?” He looks to the doctor, a small woman with wide, brown, kind eyes. She is new. He hasn’t seen her on Floor 7 before. Might be a resident. 

“Group therapy is really important, Ginoza. It will help your recovery.” 

“I know, but can I come to group therapy tomorrow?” He pleads with her. 

She sighs. 

He feels bad. The psychiatric unit probably isn’t a resident’s first choice, and he doesn’t want to be a bother. He isn’t worth anyone’s trouble. 

“If you promise you’ll come tomorrow.” Her eyes remain bright, and Ginoza feels slightly less miserable. 

“I will.” His voice is so small, so full of defeat.

Getting up from the chair takes more energy than anything ever has in his life. The walk from the group room to his bedroom feels infinite. His limbs feel heavy, emptiness, hollowness, weighing on him with every step.

Eventually he collapses in his bed, drowning in an endless sea. 

“Mental illness is like fighting a war in which the enemy’s strategy is to convince you the war isn’t real,” he had read once. 

+++

A knock comes on the open door. He wants to call out to answer, but that would be too much work. The depression lays like a heavy blanket over the top of his senses, his abilities. Coupled with the Xanax, it’s all he can do to raise his head, which he does, slowly, expecting to see a nurse.

Instead, he sees another man in hospital clothes. Black hair askew, dark circles underneath his contrastingly glowing blue eyes. 

“Hi,” the man says, energetic. So energetic it makes Ginoza dizzy. 

“What are you doing here?” He lays his head back down on the pillow. He doesn’t have the brainpower for this. 

“You left group early.” 

“So?” 

“Everyone here has something to talk about. I thought maybe you just want to talk to one person.” 

The man walks from the door to the chair next to Ginoza’s bed and sits down. How presumptuous. If he had more energy, Ginoza might care enough to be annoyed. As it is, he closes his eyes and pulls the blankets tighter around himself.

“What? Are you one of the therapists in disguise or something?” 

Ginoza hears a loud laugh. “As if. Do you think they do that? They might. That’s a great idea. That would be tricky of them. I bet I can find out which ones they are.” 

The man’s words are rushed, frantic, tumbling out. _Oh no._ Ginoza smells a schizophrenic.

“I’m Kougami Shinya. Bipolar type I ultra rapid-cycling. I, uh, I got a little paranoid on the job and went a little crazy.” 

_‘Went crazy.’ What a ridiculous thing to say to another patient at the psych ward,_ Ginoza thinks. 

Kougami doesn’t seem to notice. “What landed you here?” 

It’s common on Floor 7 to exchange diagnoses and intake details as small talk. It’s not like there’s a pecking order in the asylum. So he isn’t schizophrenic. Bipolar type I manic episodes can manifest as psychosis, though, Ginoza knows that. He feels like he should have an honorary psychology degree, the amount of time he’s spent pent up here. 

“Major depressive disorder and panic disorder. Suicide attempt number seven. Antidepressants and booze.”

“That’s rough man.” 

“You’re telling me.”

“Sorry, I missed your name.” 

“Ginoza.” 

“Just Ginoza?” 

“Just Ginoza.” 

“Then how about Gino to make it even shorter?” 

“Fine. Gino.” Ginoza opens his eyes to find a large, warm smile. 

“I’m hungry, and I think dinner is soon,” Kougami says, sounding hopeful. Ginoza isn’t sure what on earth Kougami is expecting. 

“Then go.” 

“Aren’t you hungry?” 

“No.” Ginoza turns over on the bed with finality, his back to Kougami. 

“Don’t be like that, man. You’re too thin as it is.” 

“You’ve been depressed before, right?” Despite his lack of energy, there’s a bite to his words. He shifts enough to be able to look back. To his surprise, Kougami’s eyes shine just a little bit less than before, seem to be hurt. Ginoza didn’t think anything could bring the manic down. 

“Yeah.” Kougami hangs his head, downcast. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

Depressive episodes often come with something classified as “delusion guilt,” a symptom in which the patient feels irrationally guilty about the smallest thing. He knows it’s probably a product of his condition, but Ginoza can’t help but feel the sharp pang of guilt as Kougami turns around and walks towards the door. 

“Wait,” he says quietly, against his better judgment. 

Kougami stops and looks at him but says nothing. 

“Why did you come to see me?” 

Kougami shrugs. “Just got a feeling about you.” He pauses. “I suppose it could just be the bipolar talking, but there’s something about you. I’ll leave you alone if you want, though. I'm probably not someone you want around right now.” 

Ginoza swallows. He finds himself irresistibly drawn to Kougami. It is the first conversation in weeks that has him thinking of something other than leaving. 

“You can come back after you get your food,” Ginoza says nervously. “If you want.” 

A grin spreads on Kougami’s features. In the back of Ginoza's mind, someplace inside him where life remains, a thought flits across that he wants to capture this image, this smile, remember it. Almost like it could push the sadness back, if only for a moment. 

“I’ll be back, Gino!” Kougami sprints towards the door enthusiastically. 

_Manic._ Ginoza reminds himself. He’s not interested in Ginoza, he’s just a little off-balance right now. That’s all it is. 

It’s easy for him to believe, really, that no one in their right mind would care about him. Kougami certainly isn’t in a right mind, or he wouldn’t be here at all.


	2. Visiting Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginoza learns more about his strange new acquaintance during visiting hours.

Ginoza isn’t sure what he’s gotten himself into. He doesn’t really have the power to reflect on it, but vaguely, in some part of his brain, he’s aware of annoyance flitting across him as Kougami loudly chomps on his food, sitting happily or euphorically (for the bipolar, there’s a striking difference between the two) in the chair by Ginoza’s bed, babbling on and on about heaven knows what. Ginoza is pretty sure he’s talking about what happened on the job when he ‘went crazy,’ but the words stream from Kougami so fast there’s no way to tell. 

“And after Sasayama got capped by Makishima, I just snapped and since then I’ve been seeing him everywhere, I mean Makishima, sometimes Sasayama too, so both of them, they show up in my apartment and sometimes on the job and I’m pretty sure that’s what happened this time I, uh, I tried to apprehend someone who wasn’t technically doing anything, but he had white hair and shifty eyes and if you would’ve seen him you would’ve understood, I told the chief I was just doing my job but she didn’t seem to agree and I was trying to be reasonable but then the ambulances showed up and you know the drill...” 

The words all run together, Ginoza can’t make sense of any of it, nor does he have the energy to even try. 

“Hey, you feel like talking yet?” Kougami’s incoherent string of syllables actually slows, shockingly. 

Ginoza is still wrapped in his blankets, but he lies facing Kougami, his eyes sometimes open, sometimes closed. He doesn’t feel like sleeping, he doesn’t feel like waking. The suicidal thoughts close in on his mind like ocean tides, and, for a moment, the bright blue eyes in the chair next to him push them back. 

“Not really.” 

“Can I ask you questions maybe?” 

“You feel like asking questions?” 

“Let’s start with something easy,” Kougami grins crookedly, apparently taking this as license. “What kind of pills did you use, this time?” 

Strangely, it _is_ an easy question. Ginoza answers effortlessly. 

“Zoloft and Valium. A hundred and thirty Zoloft pills and twenty of the Valium.” Zoloft is an SSRI, an antidepressant in the same drug class as Prozac. The Valium is a benzodiazapine, a sedative prescribed for his panic attacks. “It should have been enough.” 

The last sentence slips out quietly. 

Kougami ignores it, either out of distraction or to avoid embarrassment, Ginoza isn’t sure which. 

“You said you chased them with booze?” 

“Jack Daniels.” 

“Nice.” 

Ginoza laughs slightly, dryly, says nothing. 

“You get your stomach pumped?” 

“No, the paramedics showed up pretty quickly. I hadn’t even passed out when they got there. I heard the sirens and knew that it wasn’t going to happen. I got the charcoal.” Kougami must know about the charcoal. 

“Who called?” He does, evidently, because he doesn’t ask about it. 

“Not sure. Probably my friend Risa.” Ginoza notices absently how easy it is to talk to Kougami. Normally, conversation is draining, brutal, numbingly difficult. He reminds himself of the charm of mania, and pushes the desire to be around Kougami from his mind. They are simply inmates in the same prison, disabled members of society cut from the same cloth, nothing more. 

He sighs all the same. “I bet she’ll come visit me.” 

“Girlfriend?” Kougami asks, interest clearly piqued. 

“Hardly.” 

Ginoza meets Kougami’s questioning gaze. 

“I don’t exactly do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Uh, date?” 

Kougami laughs loudly, startling Ginoza. 

“Why not? You definitely look good enough.” 

Ginoza scowls, a blush rising in his cheeks. He can hardly believe it, that someone can bring enough energy out to make him feel embarrassed. 

“Keeping myself alive isn’t exactly my specialty, you think I have the ability to maintain a relationship with someone else?” He tries to say it angrily, but the words just come out sad. 

Kougami’s bright eyes soften, still wide as saucers, burning with manic energy, but somehow gazing gently, endearingly. He places his plate of food on the bedside table and reaches a hand to Ginoza’s head. 

His fingers slide through Ginoza’s long, soft hair, and Ginoza knows he should say something, he shouldn’t let him, he shouldn’t enjoy it, but he leans into the warm hand, for a second even feels himself hum softly. 

Suddenly, unbidden, interrupting, tears spring to his eyes. The depression takes hold in him, all-consuming and strong as ever, telling him to push Kougami away, to hide from the attention. He isn’t worth it, after all. 

So he listens to it. He shuffles out from Kougami’s hand and turns over on the bed to face the wall. 

“You should go,” he says with every ounce of energy in him. 

“Okay, Gino.” 

Ginoza hears the scraping of a chair and heavy, abrupt footfalls, but as Kougami leaves, even through the haze of depression, the fog of all that he believes he isn’t worthy of, he feels the slight increase of his heartbeat that comes at the sound of the nickname. 

+++

“Ginoza...” 

It’s visiting hours on Floor 7, and Risa’s voice is sad, quiet as she sits in front of him. Ginoza doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t say anything. How could he? 

“I won’t say I’m sorry,” she says, defensive despite his lack of accusation.

A pregnant pause follows. 

“How did you know?” He asks finally. 

Risa sighs. 

“The long-winded apology and elaborate goodbye before hanging up your phone and turning it off was rather telling, Ginoza. Given what’s happened before.” She says all this matter-of-factly, as if telling it scientifically will make it hurt less. 

“Look, why are you even here?” 

“Because I love and care about you!” Risa raises her voice slightly. 

Ginoza finally looks at her. 

Her shoulders droop slightly, and she reaches across the table for his hand. “I want to help.” 

“There isn’t any help for me.” Ginoza knows he looks pathetic. He lets her take his hand, but it lays limp. “I’m sorry this hurts you. If you would just stop caring what happened to me...” 

“You know that’s not going to happen, right?” 

“You need friends who can be there for you.” 

“You are there for me. I’m just making sure you always will be. Come on, Ginoza, I’m really being selfish here.” She smiles encouragingly, seeming not to mind at all when he doesn’t smile back. 

“Are you Risa?” An enthusiastic arm extends towards the visiting woman, jarring Ginoza from his thoughts. 

“Yes, that’s me,” she looks up, confused. 

“I’m Kougami Shinya. I hear you’re a good friend of this guy,” Kougami pokes Ginoza lightly and sits down next to him at the table on a folding chair. Turning to Ginoza, he adds, “Hope I’m not interrupting?” 

Kougami is definitely interrupting. But he doesn’t wait for a response and begins immediately to bombard Risa with questions. 

“Kougami Shinya?” The brown-haired resident from group earlier is back, calling for Kougami from the other side of the room. He bounces up enthusiastically, mouth spewing a quick goodbye to both Risa and Ginoza as he sprints towards the resident, who Ginoza has learned goes by Akane, even though her credentials read: Dr. Tsunemori. 

In through the door walks an older woman with a severe look and glasses, glancing around indifferently at the other patients. 

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” She asks Dr. Tsunemori. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, unless you’re family, the visiting room is all we can offer.” 

The woman sighs, and Ginoza hears Kougami invite the woman, who he keeps calling ‘chief,’ to sit at a table on the far side of the room. Ginoza briefly remembers Kougami calling his boss ‘chief,’ and wonders if she’s that same person. 

Their conversation is quick, speeded by Kougami's boundless energy, but civil, reigned in by the professionalism of the visitor. 

“But chief, this is just temporary!” Kougami’s voice raises. “It’s all a big misunderstanding, really.” 

“We simply cannot detectives who risk the lives of the larger population for no reason on the force, you have to understand,” Ginoza hears her voice, firm. “You have been put on an unpaid leave of absence, although I'm working to get your short-term disability approved. I'm sorry, Kougami, but you will be reviewed by the force when you are released from the hospital, and we will make a decision then.” 

Kougami stammers but doesn’t follow her as she stands up, thanks the doctors, and leaves the room. Ginoza glances furtively in his direction, and feels a squeeze on his hand again. 

He turns back to Risa, who smiles softly. 

“Your friend looks like he could use some company. I’ll come back to visit you tomorrow.” 

“He’s not my-” Ginoza begins.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Risa interrupts, scooting her chair back and standing up. She ruffles his hair and heads for the door. 

When she is out of earshot, Ginoza does, somehow, admit to himself that he wants to go comfort Kougami, who is slumped across the table where his boss sat, head on the cool tabletop, looking more still than Ginoza would have thought possible. 

He pulls himself up from his chair and walks across the visiting room to sit down, next to Kougami.


	3. Finding Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kougami rapid cycles down into a dark place, and Ginoza wants to be there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kougami's swings are very quick, which is somewhat atypical. Just so my readers are more informed: most bipolar episodes, both up and down, are longer in duration (manic usually shorter than depressive), but for rapid cyclers it can be a day-by-day thing, sometimes even faster. Here I do have him hallucinating due to a psychotic break in a manic episode. 
> 
> Please be safe when reading! These are heavy topics, but they're very real. Come to me if you have any questions or anything! Here or psycho-pass-mom or sandstormsfireandgrace on tumblr.

“Hey, Kougami,” Ginoza can’t believe that he’s hearing his own voice. He wonders if he’s disassociating as he feels himself sit next to Kougami, pat him lightly, awkwardly, on the shoulder. But everything is in focus, nothing is blurry around the edges. He’s definitely conscious. 

When was the last time he reached out to someone like this? 

Kougami’s head is still laying on the cool tabletop, facing away from Ginoza.

“Are you, um, are you okay?” 

Kougami turns his head over to face Ginoza, keeps it laying on the countertop. His eyelids hang over the blueness, dimming the brightness that had drawn Ginoza in, and suddenly the bags underneath Kougami’s eyes stand out in their darkness. 

“I think they’re gonna fire me, Gino.” 

“Who’s firing you?” 

“That was my boss. I’m sure you could hear me. I must have been loud. I’m probably still being really loud, but it’s all echoey in my head. I can’t keep the thoughts in order. My mouth can’t keep up but I’m sure it was trying, it’s still trying.” Kougami’s eyes snap back open wide. “God, could the whole floor hear me get fired?” He demands, words picking up momentum. His thoughts are getting ahead of him, Ginoza can tell, because he's made an impossible jump from unsure of his position suddenly believeing he's been fired, which is definitely not what Ginoza heard. 

“I don’t think she fired you.” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Obviously. That’s not the point.” As much as he feels bad about Kougami’s distress, Ginoza is glad to have someone else to - in whatever small way he can - take care of. He needs someone else’s problems to focus on, to pull him, for however fleeting of a moment, out of the dark, monstrous hole in his heart. 

Kougami gapes at him. Ginoza is happy to see his eyes wide again. Well, maybe not happy. Happy isn’t something he does. Relieved, that’s a better word.

“Of course I’m crazy. This is the psychiatric floor of the hospital, for God’s sake. You’re crazy too. Your boss didn’t fire you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, go ask Dr. Tsunemori. I think your boss gave her the details on her way out.” 

The crooked smile reemerges, less eager than normal. It looks grateful, softer, Ginoza finds it more comfortable than the cheeky grin. It would be nice if this smile could stay. 

“You’re the best, Gino. I guess I should go find the doc.” 

Kougami stands, squeezes Ginoza’s shoulder, ambles over to Dr. Tsunemori. 

Ginoza pretends not to notice the quickening of his pulse at Kougami’s easy touch. 

+++

The day passes without much eventfulness. Kougami hangs out in Ginoza’s room for a little bit, and goes on and on about everything and nothing, as the manic does. Ginoza finds the mindless listening comforting. Kougami seems to know that he’s speaking mostly nonsense, and doesn’t fault Ginoza for not listening. It’s a strange rhythm, a nice break from the crushing silence that normally falls over Ginoza in the afternoon.

Sometime, Ginoza falls asleep, and by the time he wakes, night has fallen, so he turns over, and lets sleep overtake him again. It’s odd, how most of his time in the hospital is spent asleep. 

Ginoza wakes with a start at a noise in the hallway. 

“Mr. Kougami, you need to go back to your room.” 

“Get off me!” A familiar voice is rough, panicked. “No, wait, I mean! Get off him!” 

“Mr. Kougami, I need you to relax.” Dr. Tsunemori’s voice floats into Ginoza’s room, controlled but strained. 

“B-but, doc, Sasayama, Makishima, can’t you see? Makishima’s got Sasayama, you need to let me go, if I go quickly enough, I can get him, I mean them, I can save him, them, him, oh god, it’s happening, isn’t it? Where’s my gun? I need my gun! You have to let me out!” 

Ginoza hears Dr. Tsunemori radioing for the nurses to bring a sedative. 

“I don’t think he’s dangerous, I really hate to, but... yes, that’s fine. Please. Hurry.” Her voice raises. “Kougami, I need you to look away from Sasayama and at me please. Can you do that?” 

“N-no, they’re right there, you have to let me-” 

Ginoza’s sure he can hear Kougami panting from the other side of the room. The panting changes quickly to short, breathy sobs, and he hears someone collapse on the floor. Ginoza curses the depression’s grappling hold on him, because if he could, maybe, just maybe, he would go out into the hallway... and do what? Tell Kougami he understands? 

Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything. Maybe he could just sit with him. 

But he won’t. Because nothing, nothing in the world in this moment, can bring him out of his fog. Not even the desire to help the charming, dark-haired man, with his blue eyes and his crooked smile. Not even that. 

+++

“Ginoza, it’s time for group therapy.” A knock sounds at his door. Ginoza lifts his head up to see Dr. Tsunemori, looking worn out but chipper as usual. Morning light filters into the room.

He groans quietly. 

“I know, I know,” she says. “But you promised me yesterday, remember?” 

Ginoza looks at the resident blankly for a moment, and suddenly appreciates her earnestness. He doesn’t smile, but he does speak. 

“I remember.” 

“Come on then.” She motions for him to come towards her, which he does, not as reluctantly as usual. 

When he takes his place in the circle, he looks around for his dark-haired companion, and, not much to his surprise, fails to see him. He looks up at Dr. Tsunemori, who stands making marks on a clipboard. 

“Excuse me, Dr. Tsunemori?” 

“It’s Akane, please.” She meets his gaze with soft eyes. “Yes?” 

“Where’s, um, where’s Kougami Shinya?” 

Her face falls the slightest bit. “Unforunately Mr. Kougami isn’t feeling all that well this morning.” 

“I heard something outside my room last night,” Ginoza prompts. 

The doctor sighs. 

“I see. Mr. Kougami is having a bit of a problem managing his mood. Nothing unexpected. Perhaps you can visit him later. But we should get started.” She clips her pen too her clipboard and claps her hands softly. “Everyone’s here, so let’s begin.” 

Group therapy is the same as it always is. Ginoza says his name, hears everyone say it back, and the ritual repeats as they go around the circle. He takes the opportunity to see if he recognizes any of the other patients currently on the floor. A red-head he has seen before sits on the circle, biting his nails while he fidgets nervously. His wrist is bandaged up, which can only mean one thing. Ginoza feels a pang of empathy. 

“I’m Kagari.” 

“Hi Kagari.” 

_Kagari_. Ginoza will try to remember that. He looks young, and afraid. Ginoza can relate. He’s been in an out of this place since he was 19. 

After group therapy, Dr. Tsunemori, with her sweet smile and brown eyes, turns back to Ginoza, who had made sure to sit close to her. He doesn’t like to admit it, but her quiet confidence is oddly reassuring to him. 

“I’m going to go check on our friend Kougami. Would you like to come with me, Ginoza? I’m sure he’d like to have a visitor.” 

“Oh, sure. I mean, if I won’t get in the way.” 

“Excellent. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” Ginoza feels a twinge, tiny as can be, in his chest at her statement. “Did you take your medicine this morning?” 

“Yes. The nurses brought it to me.” 

“Good. We switched you off of the Zoloft. No more SSRIs for you. Did the nurse talk to you about the medication change?”

“They said it’s obvious that I can’t tolerate the SSRIs, but because of my panic an antipsychotic might be helpful. It’s called Latuda?” 

“That’s exactly right. It’s a newer medication, so we’re starting you on a really low dose. Dr. Saiga also wondered if you would be interested in seeing him again.” 

Ginoza’s shoulders stiffen. Dr. Saiga is the floor’s psychologist. He is very good at his job. The problem with a talented psychologist is that they make you talk about unpleasant things. 

“Just think about it,” Dr. Tsunemori adds, clearly sensing his agitation. “Let’s go see Mr. Kougami.” 

She leads the way down the hallway to what Ginoza assumes to be Kougami’s room, knocking on the open door to convey their presence. 

“Mr. Kougami, I brought you a visitor.” The lightness of the small doctor’s tone has not ceased to amaze Ginoza. Floor 7 had improved greatly with her presence, Ginoza thinks. 

Walking in behind the resident, Ginoza sees Kougami, sitting up on his bed, and is shocked to see Kougami’s eyes glazed over, focused on his blanket, lacking nearly all of the life that had radiated from them in the last day. Kougami looks up to Ginoza, recognition flickering faintly before returning his gaze to the bedsheets. 

“Why don’t you say hello to Ginoza? He’s worried about you.” 

“Hi, Gino,” Kougami manages after a moment without looking up. 

“A nickname even!” The doctor smiles. “That’s wonderful. Ginoza, maybe you can sit by Kougami’s bed. I know he isn’t really talking much, but I’m sure he would appreciate it.” Dr. Tsunemori motions to the chair adjacent to the bed. 

Ginoza moves quietly and sits down. 

“H-hey, Kougami.” Ginoza doesn’t want to reach out, it’s too frightening, but the pallor of Kougami’s face, the darkness in his eyes, he knows all of it well. And he doesn’t want it for Kougami. Kougami is better than the darkness. 

“Kou,” the familiar address slips out even as Ginoza puts his hand on Kougami’s shoulder, less awkward this time. 

Kougami’s eyes widen, and he does look up, as if suddenly seeing Ginoza for the first time.

His eyes fill with tears, and he roughly takes Ginoza’s hand from his shoulder and holds it tightly in both of his. Ginoza’s first instinct is to pull back, away from the affection, but as Kougami’s shoulders begin to shake, he knows that for once, he is needed. And, for once, he allows himself an ounce of confidence, in his ability to do something worthwhile.

He hears his own voice making soft shushing noises. 

“Kou, it’s okay,” he hears himself say. 

“G-gino,” Kougami’s crying turns quickly to sobbing, and he gasps between the words. “I c-couldn’t,” his grip on Ginoza’s hand tightens, “I c-couldn’t save him. I sh-should have...” his words trail off as sobs wrack his body. 

Dr. Tsunemori walks to the other side of Kougami and rubs his back lightly. She and Ginoza lock eyes for a moment, and she nods at him, smiling sadly. 

“Kou,” Ginoza says with the softest voice possible. “Kou, I don’t know what happened, but it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Kougami doesn’t respond, only holds onto Ginoza’s hand as if his life depended on it. Ginoza hates to see his new friend like this, but he’s never been in the hospital and felt worthwhile before. 

Uncertainly, he takes his free hand and smooths Kougami’s impossibly messy hair. 

“You’re safe here, Kou.”


	4. Ghosts At The Back Of Our Closets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kougami and Ginoza both have their past struggles, and they aren't easy to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some rough content. Lots of stuff about suicide in here, so, please, be safe. Both Ginoza and Kougami have had some traumatic experiences, and it's pushed them to their limits, although one doesn't need to be traumatized to envision/attempt suicide. That just happens to be the case with Kougami, and, in some way, Ginoza. Please be safe!

It is Ginoza’s turn to sit in a chair next to Kougami’s bedside. 

Kougami had sobbed, holding tightly to Ginoza’s hand, with Dr. Tsunemori rubbing his back, for twenty solid minutes, before, after some coaxing from the resident, laying down and promptly falling into an exhausted, fitful sleep, tossing and turning but still breathing heavy. His hand still clutches Ginoza’s tightly. 

“Ginoza?” Dr. Tsunemori says his name quietly. Ginoza lifts his eyes to meet hers. 

“Could you stay with him for a bit? I need to check on some other patients, and I’ll be back in a bit. Would that be okay?” 

Ginoza nods. 

She smiles gratefully, pulling a blanket up around Kougami’s shoulders as she whispers, “Thank you.” 

Much to his surprise, Ginoza feels the corners of his lips turn upwards into the smallest ghost of a smile, as he nods with the slightest incline of his head, bangs sweeping into his eyes. 

Dr. Tsunemori leaves, pulling the door to close behind her until it is ajar just a bit. Ginoza turns his attention back to the sleeping patient beside him. Kougami shifts in his sleep, loosening his grip on Ginoza’s hand until he drops in entirely, tucking both arms under himself as he rolls on his side, facing Ginoza. 

Ginoza, in an act of confidence, especially given that Kougami is asleep, sweeps his hand up and runs it through Kougami’s impossible mop of hair, letting the upturned corners of his mouth stay up, as if remembering a time of happiness. 

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, but eventually Kougami stirs. 

“Hey,” Ginoza says softly. 

“Hey,” Kougami answers, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What happened?” 

“You... um, you were pretty upset. You started talking about how you couldn’t save someone...” 

“Oh,” Kougami pauses. “I was on about Sasayama again. That’s not surprising.” Ginoza looks at him quizzically. Kougami sighs. “It seems like I’ve got okay control of my fucking mouth right now, so I guess it’s a good of a time as any to explain.” 

“I’m sure I told you some garbled version of it yesterday when my brain was out of control, but I’m a police detective. Last year, there was an incident with a serial psychopath murderer who got to one of our detectives, one of my juniors. My subordinate. His name was Sasayama. Rookie. Good kid.” Kougami stares off into the distance for a minute before starting again. “Anyway, the serial, Makishima and I eventually met and I couldn’t bring him in. He wanted a fight, you have to understand.” 

“Now this whole deal,” Kougami spreads out his hands, as if to indicate the psychiatric floor, “Had been under control for most of my career. I’d had a few bad spells of depression and some really brilliant detective streaks, if you know what I mean, but after Sasayama died, I had my first mixed episode. Honestly, I’d be better off if I took my medication all the time, but sometimes I just... don’t. Then I end up here. That’s all there really is to it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ginoza manages after a pause. “What’s the mixed episode like?” 

“Imagine your depressive episodes, like one you’re having right now,” Kougami looks at him seriously. “And then having so much energy you feel like you’re going to explode. Maybe you start hallucinating.” He takes a deep breath. 

“I sat in my apartment with my gun between my teeth for four hours, shaking with my finger on the trigger. But Sasayama kept talking to me, you know, in the hallucination, telling me not to pull it. When I didn’t show up for my shift, they sent my partner, Sugo, to my apartment and he found me like that. Called for an ambulance, and I was here for a few weeks. That was about a year ago. But we all have our sad stories, here, though, don’t we?” 

“I suppose.” Although he’s glad that he knows more about Kougami, the mention of suicidality saddens Ginoza, and he can feel the depression grip him in its fatigue-filled hold again. He wants to go back to sleep, but it’s almost visiting hours again and Risa is due to come see him. “I should go to the main room. Risa’s supposed to visit me again.” 

“No problem, Gino. Hey, thanks for visiting me.” Kougami smiles, sad and muted, no more burning energy in his blue eyes. This, too, saddens Ginoza. “Actually, can I come out with you?”

Even though maybe he shouldn’t be, Ginoza is still surprised that Kougami would want to spend time with him. 

“Sure, I mean, only if you want to.” 

+++

“How are you feeling?” Risa’s eyes are soft, she seems more relaxed than yesterday. 

“Better,” he answers quietly. “I mean, still bad. But... better.” 

She sighs. “I’m glad. You had me worried there for a little while.” 

“I know,” he glances down, dropping her eyes. “I don’t deserve a friend like you.” 

“Let’s not get into all of the ‘deserving’ nonsense that you’re always going on and on about. I don’t care about that. You’re my friend.” 

“Risa?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you for calling.” 

Her eyes crinkle at the sides when she smiles at him, the way they always do when she is very happy or very sad. “Of course. Now,” she straightens up. “Tell me about your friend.” 

“My friend?” 

Risa nods her head covertly in the direction of the visiting room sofa, which holds Kougami, flipping a little too quickly through Orwell’s 1984. 

“O-oh, that’s Kougami.” 

“Yes, I met him yesterday.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Well, he’s not to bad on the eyes, that’s for sure. And a reader? Brains to boot. Nice choice.” 

Ginoza blushes. “It’s not like that.” 

“Sure it’s not,” Risa seems to be enjoying this, and Ginoza glares at her, which only strengthens her resolve to tease him. “There’s that little Ginoza scowl I know and love so much.” 

“Don’t you have someone better to annoy?” 

In spite of his embarrassment, Ginoza is glad for the chance to banter. He and Risa have both seen each other through a lot in the past few years, but one thing that has kept both of them afloat is their playful exchanges. 

“Oh, sweetie, there is no one better to annoy.” She checks her watch. “But there are some things that call me away, so, I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with your charming fellow patient to entertain you.” She catches Kougami’s eye as she makes to stand up and waves him over.

“Risa, what are you-” 

But Kougami has bounded up to the table already. “Risa!” He says pleasantly. “Going so soon?” 

“I’m afraid duty calls. The restaurant isn’t going to manage itself.” Risa is a manager at a high-end restaurant, one that always buys bouquets from the flower shop where Ginoza is employed. Initially, that’s how Ginoza and Risa had met. 

Risa sqeezes Ginoza's shoulders before leaving the two patients with a wave. 

"She's great," Kougami says. 

"Yeah," Ginoza answers without looking at him, fondly watching his friend go out the doors of the visiting room. "She is." 

+++

“How long do I need to stay here, Dr. Tsunemori?” 

“Well, we need to keep you here for a little while so we can monitor your new medication. How does it feel?” 

“Um, I feel kind of fuzzy a lot of the time.”

“Are you lightheaded? Nauseous?” 

“No, that’s not it. I feel kind of like I’m underwater, but not like the Klonopin.” 

“Alright,” Dr. Tsunemori smiles at him. “We’ll keep an eye on it. I did set up an appointment for you with Dr. Saiga, but you don’t have to go.” Ginoza hangs his head. “I do think it would be very helpful for you.” 

“I know. I’ll go.” 

“Thank you,” she pats his shoulder and smiles at him. It’s amazing, the way she can make him feel like his decision to go to the doctor eases her worries. Dr. Tsunemori makes him feel like, in some small way, his health makes a difference to her, and if that’s something he can give to the tiny woman, he is willing to at least try. 

+++

“Ginoza, it’s been a little while.” 

Ginoza shifts in the too-comfortable armchair. “Hello, Dr. Saiga.” 

“I would say it’s good to see you, but, well, you know how these things are.” 

Dr. Saiga has a very odd bedside manner, a mixture of sardonic charm with an empathetic listening ability, and, honestly, the lack of anxiety he provokes from Ginoza provokes further anxiety. It’s hard to want to go to therapy about your depression and anxiety when the very idea of therapy makes you more depressed and anxious. But there isn’t much helping it, Ginoza knows. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Do you want to talk about what happened before you came to the hospital?” 

Ginoza flicks his eyes up meet the doctor’s and shakes his head ever so slightly. But Dr. Saiga waits, knowing Ginoza will speak in spite of not wanting to. 

“It had been a bad week,” he finally says in a defeated voice. 

“Were you having the dream?” 

Ginoza nods. “Yeah, the one about my dad.” 

Since his dad died when he was nineteen, Ginoza has continued to have a recurring nightmare about it. There was an accident with some dynamite at a mine site Ginoza’s father managed. Ginoza had arrived to have lunch with his father, to find workers shouting and sirens blaring. He was just in time to see his dad strapped to a stretcher, and he ran for the ambulance. 

The EMTs let Ginoza ride to the hospital with his dad, but there was nothing they could do. The dynamite had exploded too close to him. His arm was missing and he practically bled out in the ambulance. He died moments after arriving at the emergency room. 

The nightmare was usually about the ambulance ride. Ginoza dreamt of his father reaching out to him, begging for help. He had not done this during the real ambulance ride, but Dr. Saiga said it was probably a product of the helplessness Ginoza must have felt during the experience. 

“What about your mom?” Dr. Saiga asks gently. “Any dreams about her?” 

“Not really. I’d just been... thinking about her a lot.” 

Ginoza’s mother seemed to be unable to look at him since the accident. She let it slip once that Ginoza’s eyes reminded her too much of his dad’s, and eventually she moved away, explaining that she just couldn’t be near Ginoza any longer. It was too painful. Ginoza, for his part, was too depressed to argue with her, and neither had spoken since the move. 

“Okay, what about two days ago, though?” Dr. Saiga’s voice pulled Ginoza from the thoughts of his parents.

“I had a panic attack the day before and had come home from the flower shop early. I had felt awful about it because I’ve been getting notices from my landlord about overdue rent, and I shouldn’t not work just because my head isn’t working quite right, it’s so stupid.” The words were tumbling, too fast. 

“Let’s slow down there for a minute, Ginoza. Let’s back up. You said you had a panic attack, and came home from work early.” 

“Yes.” 

“How did you feel when the panic attack was over?” 

Ginoza answers slowly. “Very depressed. I had gone to bed during the panic attack, and I couldn’t get back out of bed.” 

“Did you take your rescue medication to help with the panic attack?” 

Ginoza shakes his head. “No, I had forgotten to take it to the flower shop and when I got home I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t get the bottle open.” 

“That happens. I’m sorry that happened. What next?” 

“I slept until the next morning and called off of work for the next day. That was what really did it. I hated myself for not being able to work because of my stupid depression,” Ginoza spits, angry. 

“Take a deep breath, please,” Dr. Saiga says with kind sternness. 

Ginoza obliges, frustrated at himself for getting so worked up. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Ginoza, they pay me for this,” the psychologist smiles crookedly. “So, you were upset with yourself for not being able to work?” 

“Yeah. I just felt so useless. I called Risa as I, um,” he swallows. “Got up to look for the pills. She didn’t answer, which seemed like a sign to me, so I left her a message, telling her how sorry I was for causing her trouble. By the time the message was done I had all the medicine in the house and half a fifth of whiskey in front of me.” 

Dr. Saiga nods, but doesn’t speak, silently indicating to Ginoza to continue. 

“I took them all as quickly as I could and laid down on my couch. Everything started to fade, the Valium felt good. The next thing I know I’m in an ambulance.” 

“And here we are,” Dr. Saiga finishes for him. Ginoza nods. 

“I just wish I had control over something,” Ginoza says after a long pause. 

“Well, you do have control over some things, it’s just hard to see sometimes.” 

“Like what? I can’t even manage to kill myself.” This comes out much sadder than Ginoza wants it to. 

“But you did call Risa. You probably would have killed yourself if you hadn’t called her. You have the ability to have a functioning relationship with your friend. You control enough in your life to maintain a very good friend. That’s more than a lot of people can do, just so you know.” 

Ginoza’s eyes widen. “Really?” 

Dr. Saiga smiles at him. “Really. I think one of the things here is that you feel like things are out of control. And sometimes, things really are, right? But other times we really think that things are out of control when they aren’t. I want you, before you come see me again, to take a notebook, and write down every single thing that you can control. You can choose to brush your teeth, for instance. That’s something you control. Fill the page with things you can control. We can talk about that next time. Can you do that for me?” 

Ginoza is surprised to think of such small decisions as an exercise of his own power, but Dr. Saiga is certainly right. 

“Okay,” Ginoza says. “I’ll try.” 

“Good. I’ll see you in a few days, okay?” 

Ginoza stands up slowly and walks from Dr. Saiga’s office back to his room. He has every intention of flopping on his bed, exhausted. 

For better or for worse, though, Kougami’s bright eyes are the first thing that greet him when he walks through the door to his room. He is still flipping through 1984. 

“Gino! I was wondering where you’d run off to.” 

Ginoza still flops down on the bed, pulling the covers up over him. 

“Therapy is hard,” is his only answer to Kougami. 

Kougami leans in and runs his hand through Ginoza’s hair. Ginoza blushes, pulling the blankets up around him so Kougami can’t see. 

“Well, then, why don’t you take a nap? Can I stay here and read while you sleep?” 

“Is that really a question?” Ginoza asks. 

“No,” Kougami answers, grinning. “Go to sleep.”


	5. Reasons To Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little softness reminds Ginoza that he matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I left this for so long. This fic means the most to me, so I had no intention of abandoning it. I've been dealing with some depression myself, so this chapter felt very good to write.
> 
> They might seem like they've changed moods a lot in a short time, especially Kougami. But remember Kougami stopped taking his medication entirely, and since he's been at the hospital he's been back on it, which is why he's gotten level so quickly. As usual, come to me with comments or questions, here or on tumblr as psycho-pass-mom (I changed my url). Thank you such for all the support!

When Ginoza opens his eyes, the chair Kougami had claimed so often in the last few days is filled by someone else. 

The soft-eyed resident is back. Ginoza blinks sleep from his eyes and sits up. 

“Dr. Tsunemori? Where’s Kougami?” He feels dependent, asking after another person like this, but, for some strange reason, it doesn’t matter so much.

“I told you, call me Akane, please. Kougami is at his therapy session with Dr. Saiga. Do you want to tell me about yours?” 

Ginoza sighs. “It was a good session. We talked about my parents and how I feel like everything is always out of my control.” 

Akane smiles. “And he told you that many things really are in your control, right?” 

“How did you know?” Ginoza can’t believe he has the energy to talk like this, to hold a conversation about something as exhausting as therapy. 

“Let’s just say Dr. Saiga doesn’t keep his wisdom for only our patients here.” She winks, and Ginoza lets himself appreciate her softness, her smile. 

“Anyway,” she continues after a pause. “I came to give you your evening medication.” 

It’s evening already? Looking out the window to see the dusky sky, Ginoza admits that he must still be fairly depressed, because he has slept most of the day away. 

“And to ask how it’s feeling?” 

He looks back from the window to her, thinks silently. She doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t fill the space with tiring chatter, doesn’t weigh on him with obligations to speak. 

Depression makes superficial talk unbearable. Ginoza is so tired of people around him chattering on about nothing. When one is living the bare minimum of existence, things that are of little matter anyway become completely meaningless. So the silence she gives him feels like a safe space, like she expects nothing from him, even as she works for him to get better. 

“I don’t feel so fuzzy right now.” 

“That’s good to hear,” she makes a note on her clipboard before handing him a small plastic cup with three pills in it and a glass of water. 

“It’s funny,” he speaks so quietly it’s almost a whisper. He isn’t even sure he’s speaking out loud. 

“What’s that?” 

But he must be, if she answers him with a question. 

He stares down at the pills in his hand, pastel colors, white and light pink and baby blue. The pills are always such soft colors. He wonders if manufacturing companies do this on purpose, make them seem soft, take away how sterile they are, try to mask the disease the pills cover up. 

“I’m holding the only way I can stay alive in my palm,” he answers. “It takes medicine to keep my brain from making me do something to myself. It’s kind of pathetic.” 

Dr. Tsunemori reaches over and pats his arm. 

“Medicine is only a part of your life, Ginoza. An important part, yes, but most certainly only a part. Your brain just works differently. We stay alive for lots of different reasons, right?” 

“Dr. Tsu- I mean,” it feels strange to address her informally, but he does it anyway. “Akane, can I ask you a personal question?” 

He doesn’t want to pry, hates it when other people pry on him. But as usual, she doesn’t make him feel like a burden, she makes him feel worthwhile. She, the doctor, the caretaker, makes him feel like he does something for her. 

“Of course you can. I get to decide if I’ll answer it, but ask away.” 

“Why did you choose to do your residency on Floor 7?” 

She leans against the chair, exhales slowly, calculating. After a long moment, full of the warm silence Ginoza revels in, she speaks again. 

“I have a family member who suffers this way. Actually,” another pause, a deep breath. “I had a family member. I wasn’t able to see the signs. I decided I never wanted to lose someone that way again.” 

Ginoza stiffens. If he isn’t mistaken, he sees the shimmer of tears in her eyes, he doesn’t miss the way she blinks just a little bit faster. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages, not sure what to say. Sorry both for her loss and for asking the question. It’s not that he never considered the effects suicide could have on someone else, he just has never heard someone say it this way. 

“It’s all right,” when she looks back at him, the shimmering tears have dissipated. “It was a long time ago. It’s been a while since I’ve talked about it.” 

“I’m going to get better,” he blurts out, loud and honest. 

She pats his arm again, smiles again. “Thank you.” 

She stands up, straightens her clothes and clips her pen to her clipboard, leaves, and as her shoes pad down the hallway, Ginoza hears or imagines a small sniffle echo its way back to his room. It doesn’t matter, he knows, if it was real or not. What matters is getting better, not doing that to another person.

+++ 

“How was therapy?” 

“Dr. Saiga thinks he knows everything,” Kougami says grumpily as he walks into Ginoza’s room dramatically, flopping onto the chair with his arms crossed across his chest. Ginoza is, as usual, at his bed, but he’s sitting up for a change, flipping through magazines absently. He’s straightened up his hair, is starting to feel clear-headed, not so foggy.

It's not that the depression has gone away. god only knows, it probably never will. But the hospital was doing exactly what it should be doing: leveling him out, reminding him that no matter how big the struggle, there are things in this world worth living for. Even if it's the smile of a kind doctor, or a pair of burning blue eyes that may not stay forever. If the world can give him small things like that every once in a long while, he will try to be satisfied with it. 

“Does he?” Ginoza looks up from his reading, he can see that Kougami is holding something back, odd given the circumstances. He's been so open until now. Perhaps it means Kougami is leveling out as well, controlling his thoughts and mouth. 

“I mean, yeah. I just don’t like talking about this stuff with him.” 

“Me either,” Ginoza answers truthfully. “But it’s the only way they’re ever going to let you out.” 

Kougami turns to him, and the grin returns. “Ain’t that the truth.” 

Ginoza waits, giving Kougami space to talk if he wants to. He lets the burning blue eyes wash over him, tries not to get lost in them. He feels his cheeks warm as he fails. Ginoza starts at a scraping noise across the floor: Kougami is dragging the chair a bit closer to the bed. 

“Hey, Gino?” 

The smile is sincere, not cheeky or playful, but warm, trustworthy. 

“Yeah?” He answers quietly. 

“Can I hold your hand?” 

Ginoza’s cheeks flush completely, and instead of answering, he simply opens his palm. Kougami interlaces their fingers. He’s warm, Ginoza feels the callouses, remembers that these hands pull gun triggers, these hands save people, and he wonders which happens more often.

They sit that way, for a long time, Kougami silent for once, until, after the silence, finally says, 

"I really like you, Gino. Can we spend some time together after we get out of here?"

Ginoza feels tears well up in his eyes. It's not the romance or the affection, but another simple reminder that he is wanted in this world, from time to time, that he is more than a passing shadow. 

Swallowing the lump that has risen in his throat, he whispers, "I'd like that."


	6. Eveything's Not Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kougami gets discharged. Ginoza makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like everyone to know that this fic is dedicated to anyone and everyone who has ever experienced any type of mental distress in their lives. It's hard and I love you all. Enjoy!

"So, who's picking you up?" Ginoza asks, less shyly than he would have thought. It's been a few more days, and Kougami's packing for discharge.

He's in Kougami's room, sitting up in a chair as he watches Kougami gather his sparse scattering of things out of the dresser. A notebook, undoubtedly prescribed with recommended writing assignments by Dr. Saiga, some rumbled t-shirts, 1984, his badge. They all go into a tattered leather bag, which Ginoza finds somehow fitting for the rough yet ever sensitive police detective. 

"Sugo, my partner." Kougami sits on the bed, turns his eyes towards Ginoza. "He's gonna help me get settled back into the apartment. On Monday I have a sort of hearing at the department, to see if I can stay." He looks worried, resigned. 

"What do you think is going to happen?" Ginoza doesn't want Kougami to lose his job, understands the way the illness steals lifetimes away from its victims, and he wants more for Kougami than that. 

"Sugo made it sound like the chief is on my side, and the chief asked if Dr. Tsunemori and Dr. Saiga would write referrals, so I suppose I should be hopeful." 

Over the last few days, Kougami has come down from the burning fast-track of manic energy. Ginoza has watched a shift, surprisingly glad to see that Kougami is a passionate person, even besides the energy of his illness. They've exchanged more than just diagnoses and intake stories. He's heard about Kougami's favorite parts of being a detective, the way he joined the force to protect the people he cares about. 

He's told Kougami about the flower shop, how he can sense what someone comes in for the moment they walk in the door. An apology to a lover, a bouquet for a gravesite, jittery nerves of wedding-minded brides, he knows them all by heart, by the steps they take, the way the door closes behind them. 

_"That's a gift, I think," Kougami had said._

_"I wouldn't exactly call it that," Ginoza had answered, blushing slightly, looking away._

_"Sure it is," the passionate smiles and smirks haven't disappeared from Kougami's face when Ginoza amuses him, but they have become more tempered, easier, less frightening, in a way._

_"It's a gift to be able to see how others feel. I can tell you have that gift, Gino."_

Ginoza is sad to see him go. He's due to be out a day or two after Kougami, but he has for the first time, almost enjoyed his hospital stay. It's not just Kougami. Dr. Tsunemori has made it more than bearable, too, with her kind eyes and her soft spoken compassion. 

He walks with Kougami to the visiting room, where he meets with Dr. Tsunemori to fill out his release paperwork. Ginoza sits on the couch while Kougami talks with the resident, trying to flip through a magazine, but mostly just fidgeting with his hands. 

A man walks through the door and walks up to Kougami at the desk. Ginoza feels a pang of jealousy as the man claps Kougami on the back. He can only assume the man to be Sugo, Kougami's partner. He tries not to stare as he watches them interact, wishing he was the one walking out with Kougami. He hates that he wishes that. Attachment isn't safe. Attachment isn't a good idea. 

"As long as you promise to follow up with your outpatient psychiatrist, I can release you in good conscience," Dr. Tsunemori says, smiling up at the new visitor. 

"You got it, doc," Kougami smiles at her, winks, and signs the paper. 

She extends her hand. "It's been nice to meet you, Kougami." 

"Same to you, doc. Best of luck." He stands and Ginoza stares down at the magazine page, letters swimming, whether from tears or from disassociation, or something else entirely, he isn't sure. He convinces himself that Kougami is going to walk out the door without a second look back, and almost jumps when he feels a warmth sit on the couch next to him. 

"K-Kou?!" Ginoza tries and fails not to sound shocked. 

Kougami grins at him, energetic and still vaguely reckless, but somehow understanding. "What? You thought I was gonna leave without saying goodbye?" 

"N-no," Ginoza stutters, even though the obvious answer is yes.

"Well, at any rate," Kougami looks up to Sugo. "This is my partner, Sugo Teppei. Sugo, this is Ginoza Nobuchika, I call him Gino." 

Sugo takes the chair across from the couch and reaches out to shake Ginoza's hand. Hesitantly, Ginoza obliges. 

"It's nice to meet you," Sugo says. His voice is soft and strong, he seems like he must counterbalance Kougami well.

"You too," Ginoza says quietly. 

"I guess we should head out," Kougami says, and Ginoza can't believe that he hears sadness in Kougami's voice. 

"Alright. I'll, um," Ginoza pauses, turns to look at Kougami, "I'll se-"

He's cut off as Kougami presses a soft, quick kiss to his lips, not lingering, but confident. 

"I'll see you when you get out, okay?" Kougami's tone is soft, sincere, and much to his great surprise, Ginoza actually believes him. 

Ginoza nods jerkily, too shocked to say anything. Kougami ruffles his hair. 

"Don't look so shocked, Gino, I've wanted to do that all week." 

With that, Kougami stands up, nods at Sugo in the direction of the door, and they head out, Kougami's tattered leather bag slung over his shoulder. Just before they walk out, Kougami tilts his head back, waves with one of those smiles that has had Ginoza so flustered all this time, and the blue eyes shine at him. 

Yes. He will see Kougami in a few days. Ginoza knows he will. 

Dr. Tsunemori stands up from her desk and walks towards him. She sits on the couch next to him, and he stares at her, as if asking her silently if what just happened was real. She touches his shoulder lightly, squeezes it.

"Maybe this isn't my place," she ventures, "But I really think you should see him again." 

"Was that... um..." Ginoza isn't sure how to ask. "Is it normal for this to happen?" 

"For patients to get to know each other on Floor 7?" 

He nods. 

She considers this for a minute, looking up, her brow furrowed in a way Ginoza finds endearing. He can always tell that her answers are real, her thoughts unhidden. 

"Sure. I mean, you have something important in common. But he really cares about you. You should at least learn if you can be friends." She stops, then smiles again. "You should ask your friend Risa what she thinks." 

Ginoza chuckles, to his surprise. 

"What?" Dr. Tsunemori looks at him with curious eyes. 

"Risa is always trying to set me up. She'll be all for it." 

"Hmm," the resident muses, "at least you know she wants you to be happy." 

"She needs a man in her life," Ginoza can't believe his own energy, as he jokes about Risa. "That Sugo guy was not bad looking. Maybe I can get her a date." 

Dr. Tsunemori laughs. "I'm sure she would appreciate it. So call Kougami when you get out, if just to find Risa a date. Okay?" 

"Are doctors supposed to give dating advice?" 

"This isn't dating advice, or a medical opinion," she says before standing up. "I've got to make some rounds. Let me know if you need anything." 

+++ 

The twitching redhead from group therapy a few days ago wanders into the visiting room, where Ginoza sits, hardly reading, hardly thinking, convincing himself that he made the whole kiss up. Ginoza thinks back to group therapy and remembers, barely, the name. Kagari. 

He sits on the other side of the room from Ginoza, fiddling with the bandages on his wrist. 

Ginoza knows he's stable enough to be released, because without any struggle, he stands up from the couch and walks to the table where the redhead sits. 

"Hey," he hears his voice, it is soft and soothing. Maybe, just maybe, he is proud of himself. 

"Oh, hi," the redhead is surprisingly enthusiastic for someone who fidgets so much. 

"It's Kagari, right?" Ginoza asks politely, being careful not to intrude. 

"Yeah, sorry, I can't remember your name," the words are rushed, fast. Not the same way as Kougami's. These are rushed out of fear, anxiety. 

"Ginoza." 

"Hi Ginoza." 

"Can I sit down?" 

"Oh, sure." 

Ginoza sits, feels a smile come to his face as he looks at the young redhead. 

"Is this your first time here?" Intake details are always the best way to start a friendship on Floor 7. 

"Yeah." 

"What do you think so far?" 

Kagari shrugs. "The cute doctor is nice." 

Ginoza nods. "She is. She's new. I hope she stays. She's good for this place." 

"You've been here before?" Kagari looks surprised. Poor kid, he had no idea. 

"You might say that," Ginoza answers, not wanting to focus on himself. "I've got major depressive disorder and panic disorder. I came here after a failed suicide attempt. You?" 

"Ah, they're not exactly sure what I have," the kid looks away, embarrassed. "Something about anxiety, something a-about trauma." 

_Ah. He had things to hide. Well, everyone on Floor 7 has their secrets._

"No problem." 

"Anyway," Kagari looks back up at Ginoza, a mischievousness twinkling in his eye. Ginoza would be encouraged by that, if he didn't know what was coming, "Where'd your boyfriend go?" 

Ginoza goes red without meaning to, and he fumbles over the words. "H-he's not my boyfriend." 

Kagari laughs, and Ginoza spares a bit of his energy to enjoy the sound. "The hell he's not. You're full of shit, Ginoza!" He laughs some more, and although Ginoza feels embarrassed, he can't help but be glad that he can bring a little bit of joy to someone else. 

"Are you hungry?" Ginoza asks, happy to feel a growl in his stomach, not so much for the hunger, but rather for the return of a desire to fulfill his basic needs. The new medicine is working. The pervasive want for death still flits through him at unexpected times, but he's feeling hunger, silliness, emotions other than tired and hopeless. 

Because depressed tired is an emotion, no matter what anyone said. 

But right now, although his heart ached just a tiny bit for his new blue-eyed friend, the desire of a meal and the laugh of a younger patient was enough to keep him from the emptiness.


	7. Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past." -Buddy Wakefield. 
> 
> Ginoza goes home.

“Well, Ginoza, it’s been nice getting to know you,” the kind-eyed resident extends her hand over the discharge desk. 

He takes it, hesitating, nervous. Even in the short time he’s known her, Dr. Tsunemori has done so much to show him kindness, to make him feel worthwhile, to give him a reason to live, to try to live. 

“L-likewise,” he shakes her hand, squeezes it a bit too hard, maybe. But she doesn’t flinch, so he tries to brush it off. 

“Dr. Saiga always says never to tell patients we would like to see them again,” she says with a smile. “So I guess I’ll just say I hope we can meet again under better circumstances.” 

Ginoza allows himself a shy smile, a nod of the head. “I do too, Akane.” 

Risa pokes him from behind. “Alright, alright, enough talk. I’m hungry. You better buy me lunch.” 

Ginoza looks back at her, fleetingly flicks his eyes back at Dr. Tsunemori and rolls them ever so slightly. 

Risa doesn’t skip a beat, though. She bats him lightly with his messenger bag, which she had slung over her shoulder. 

“Don’t even, Ginoza Nobuchika,” she barks playfully. “I want pizza. And dessert.” 

“Whatever you say, Risa,” Ginoza sighs in return. He waves one more time at Dr. Tsunemori before turning towards the door. No matter how many times he’s walked in or out these doors, he always shivers slightly, still not able to believe how much this is a part of his life. A fleeting thought of inadequacy flits through him, he’s never been able to shake it entirely.

“Wait!” A voice, halting, jerky, calls out from behind him. Ginoza thoughts dissipate with the sound.

Ginoza turns around, surprisingly calm. Surprising voices don’t greet his ears with comfort, usually, but today is a day of freedom, and, he is glad, calm. A mop of red hair and a toothy grin greet him. 

“Kagari?” 

The younger boy smiles up at him. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” 

Ginoza smiles back. He and Kagari had enjoyed a day together, playing board games, something Ginoza isn’t particularly good at. Kagari had complained that board games aren’t nearly as fun as the other games he likes to play. 

“You’re a good kid,” Ginoza says softly. “I’m happy I met you. Once you get out, try to stay out, okay?” 

Kagari looks off to the side, a sad tilt weakening his smile. “I’ll try.” 

Ginoza reaches his arm out, it’s light, not heavy with the blanket of depression. He takes hold of Kagari’s shoulder, who looks back at him. 

“You’re a good one, Kagari. Don’t forget that.” 

As they exit the building, a breeze floats its way through Ginoza’s hair, his bangs flop in his face. He covers his eyes to shade them. It’s a beautiful day, spring is teasing its way into summer, and it’s been months since he’s been able to appreciate it. Spring was his favorite season, once, before everything went to hell. How long has it been since he appreciated it?

He shakes his bangs to the side. No use worrying about that kind of thing now. The release from the hospital always feels a bit like this. It’s strange to be locked away to get free from your own mind. How strange that the one he needs the most protection from is himself. 

“Are you listening to me?” Risa voice jerks him from his thoughts. 

“O-oh, sorry,” he says with a sheepish look. “Just enjoying the weather.”

Risa gives a little chuckle. “If you’re enjoying anything, I guess I can’t complain. I was just asking if you want to go to the pizza place down the road from your apartment.” 

“That sounds nice.” 

+++

They order a pizza to share, Ginoza lets the everyday smells of a restaurant waft over him. Things have color, texture again. The new medicine is stabilizing him, and he wonders - as he often has - if this is how people are supposed to feel. 

“Ah, I brought your ancient phone,” Risa’s eyes crinkle with amusement as she hands it over. Ginoza can tell she’s trying to hide her relief. It must be a terrible burden, he thinks with a pang in his chest, and she’s not even his family. But he squashes the feeling down, reminding himself that she doesn’t think of him as a burden, and it’s a sign of his healing that he almost believes himself. 

“You really should consider getting a new one. That thing is a dinosaur.” 

He ignores her jab about his too-old gadget. “Thanks. I bet the flower shop called.” 

“I stopped by and gave them a note from Dr. Tsunemori. Your manager says he hopes you feel better and to call when you’re out of the hospital.” 

Ginoza looks up from the slowly booting-up phone (she is right: it might be about time for an upgrade) to his friend. “You sure think of everything, don’t you?” 

“We look out for each other, that’s all there is to it,” she says with finality. 

Before Ginoza can say anything else, their server brings a steaming pizza, and Ginoza feels his stomach growl. 

“I’m excited about this,” he says. 

Ginoza has to be imagining the glossy tint to Risa’s eyes. “Me too,” she says with a softer voice than usual.

The phone, miraculously, whirs to life with a tired beep. It doesn’t take long for the alerts to come: frantic messages from Risa from the previous week after he had turned his phone off, some missed calls from the floral shop, and, strangely, a text message from a new number.

“What on earth?” He opens the message. 

_“Gino, I don’t know when you get out. But call me, okay? I mean, if you want to.”_

There is only one person that could have come from. 

Ginoza looks up, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at his friend sitting across the table. She takes an overly large bite of her pizza, as though to avoid conversation, so Ginoza waits until she swallows, and pounces.

“Risa, did you-” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answers, voice stiff, closing her eyes as she waves a hand dismissively. 

Ginoza lets himself smirk. “I didn’t even finish asking.” 

She peeks one eye open and sticks out her tongue playfully. 

“What can I say? He’s a cutie. I can’t let you pass this chance up, can I?” 

“You never let me pass up any chance,” Ginoza rolls his eyes, happy to feel a twinge in his chest. Maybe it’s nerves from Kougami, maybe it’s banter from Risa, it doesn’t matter. It’s a feeling, one that doesn’t make him feel like disappearing. 

One that he wouldn’t mind feeling again. 

They eat their pizza in peace, Ginoza asking about the restaurant, Risa gossiping about her latest crush on a regular. He rolls his eyes over and over, and it feels good. 

"I can't wait until you go back to work," Risa says at one point. "Your fill-in at the flower shop just doesn't do the restaurant justice." 

"I'm the only one at the flower shop who spends any time at the restaurant, I suppose." 

"And you're just the greatest florist," she says with such a dramatic sigh.

Ginoza reaches across the table and pokes her. "If anyone knew how dramatic you are, they'd never let you run the place." 

She sat up straight, feigning upset. "How dare you. After all I've done for you, I sit here and listen to insults!" 

"Insults is a little extreme, don't you think?" 

+++

Ginoza insists upon carrying his own messenger bag to his apartment, so Risa doesn’t have to park and get out of the car. 

“If you’re sure,” she says, leaning out the rolled down window. 

“I am. I’m feeling much better.” 

“I’m glad.” 

“Risa... thanks.” 

She turns back to the steering wheel. “Anything for you, my dear.” 

Ginoza waits until her car exits the parking lot before heading up the stairs. His is vaguely aware of the strange percussion of the pill bottles in his bag. Every time he’s sent home, there’s always a new tune. 

This time, maybe, it will be a song he can keep in step with. Maybe this time, he will really get better. 

He gets inside and sets his bags down at the door. He flops on the couch and exhales loudly. It’s nice to be alone, and to not feel lonely. He thinks about games with Kagari and Dr. Tsunemori’s smile. 

He picks up his ancient phone, and opens Kougami’s message again. With a strange fluttering in his stomach, he types something back.

_“Is this Kougami?”_ It seems like the polite thing to do, to make sure. _“I got out today. I hope you’re doing well.”_

Ginoza wonders if that’s good enough. He sets the phone on the coffee table next to the couch, and closes his eyes. Sleep floats into him, and he’s grateful that he naps because he’s tired. He is really, actually tired. Not tired of life or himself. Just tired.


	8. Here Comes The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are reunited!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, remember that time I was a fanfiction writer who updated things? Yeah, me neither. Thank you for everyone who decides to stick with this! Sorry it's been literally months. The cuties are back together. This was very calming to write, I hope you enjoy! And yes, I used a Beatles song title. So sue me.

Ginoza starts back at work the day after he gets home. Although Dr. Saiga reminded Ginoza in one of their sessions before his release that he needs to work on being comfortable by himself, Ginoza still doesn’t want to spend too much time in silence. Work is a solace, of sorts. It’s the best job he could have hoped for, he knows. It might not look like much to an outsider, but he finds fulfillment in these silly arrangements and short-lived interactions, none of which have ever felt trivial to him. Flowers speak when words cannot, he has said more than once. 

It doesn’t take very long for Ginoza to get settled back into the routine there. He notices more things, now, how old things return as he stabilizes. His knack for understanding a customer’s needs before they can speak it, the easy matching of colors, sipping cups of tea in between the business, it is all strangely calming as it comes back to him. 

He’s been out for about a week now, and he flips through a wedding magazine he has just been given by a beaming bride. It’s nice, to have a definite task to accomplish. She gave him a bit of creative license, but she wants it as close to the reference as possible. 

His boss works in the back while Ginoza does the arrangements and fields customers. Time lazes by, but Ginoza doesn’t mind. He trims and arranges and dusts. 

Risa comes by in the afternoon to get her flowers for a special event at the restaurant. Ginoza listens to her as he weaves Baby’s Breath in between an array of various colored roses, looking up to meet her eyes every few minutes. This is a typical routine for them. Ginoza hums and nods while Risa goes on. This, too, he finds comforting. 

After a few minutes of complaining about the hot-shot business executives who are taking up the whole conference room and monopolizing their only bartender’s time, she stops talking to smile at him. 

“Hey,” her voice is soft. 

“What?” He is a bit defensive when he looks up. Risa’s smile doesn’t have its usual playful bite, simply rests across her face, knowing and wise. 

“You look happy again.” 

Ginoza feels a blush creep up to his cheeks. “Maybe.” 

“It’s just nice, that’s all.” 

“Yeah,” Ginoza exhales, fully able to take in his friend’s happiness for the first time in a while. Depression steals your empathy away from you, makes you unable to relate to anyone, even those about whom you care deeply. 

It’s nice, to feel what she feels, in a small way. 

“Anyway, has Kougami called you?” 

This time Ginoza really goes red. 

“Well, you didn’t waste much time there,” he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“So?” She ignores the jab. 

“Maybe,” he sniffs, not really upset. 

He and Kougami had started by exchanging text messages, catching up on one another’s lives. Eventually Kougami had called Ginoza, and they have been talking on the phone a bit each day of the last week. 

Kougami was allowed to keep his badge, and is feeling relieved to be back out working on cases, although he had a strict schedule and weekly outpatient meetings as a part of his conditions for staying with the force. He says that it’s a bit constraining, but Dr. Saiga had stressed the importance of routine for his mood. 

Ginoza likes listening to Kougami talk. It is less feverish now that they are out of the hospital, less anxious and restless, but still Ginoza finds him endlessly fascinating and entertaining. 

“Well, are you guys going to have a proper date anytime soon?” Risa snaps him out of his reverie. 

“Actually, we are,” Ginoza is surprised at his own confident tone. 

Risa whistles, a satisfied smirk crossing her face. 

“What?” 

“Say it.” 

“Say what?” 

“You know what,” Risa’s foot taps insistently against the tile floor, echoing slightly as she reaches an arm out to poke his arm. 

Ginoza sighs. “Thank you.” 

“Ha!” Her smirk morphs into a full-on grin. “You’re welcome, dear. When is it?” 

“Tomorrow afternoon we’re going to the park.” 

“That’s nice. I think the weather is supposed to be a bit cooler, so wear the green sweater, okay?” 

“What are you, my mom?” Ginoza rolls his eyes. 

“Basically. See you later!” She waves without looking back. The door clangs shut behind her, and Ginoza thinks to himself that he’s pretty lucky to have Risa in his life. 

+++

The green sweater is the right choice, it matches his eyes, whatever. Ginoza struggles to comb out his bangs, regretting his choice not to get a haircut yesterday. He hadn’t wanted to seem to eager to impress, but now, with his bangs practically shielding his view, he is embarrassed. 

It’s not as though he and Kougami had met under the most impressive of circumstances, he reminds himself. 

There’s a knock on Ginoza’s apartment door, and he takes one last sweep at his obnoxious bangs, silently vowing to get them cut the second he gets done being with Kougami. 

He rushes to the door, and it isn’t until he opens it that he realizes he’s a bit breathless. 

Kougami looks, well, good. Clean-shaven and well-groomed, and Ginoza had thought he looked good enough even with sleep-deprived eyes in a hospital gown. 

“Gino,” Kougami lets out a breath it sounds like he’s been holding, and Ginoza comes back to planet earth. 

“Hey, Kou.” 

“Shall we?” Kougami gestures for Ginoza to follow him out the door. 

The park is only a few blocks from Ginoza’s apartment. There are kids playing frisbee, families with children and dogs. Without knowing how, Ginoza finds himself explaining to Kougami the kind of dog he’s always wanted, but he’s always been too afraid to get. Kougami puts him so much at ease that he finds himself spilling out this insecurity he didn’t exactly know he had. 

“It’s so much work to take care of myself, I wonder how I could possibly take care of another living thing?” 

“I get it, Gino, but I think you’d be a great dog owner, or, dad, or whatever.” 

Ginoza goes a bit pink, and can’t think of anything else to say. 

“Hey,” Kougami says casually, “Gino, let’s hold hands while we walk.” 

Ginoza blinks, confused. “What?” 

Kougami laughs, deep and soft and comforting. “We’re walking in freedom through the park. The only thing that could make it better is if we do it as much together as possible. Does, uh,” Kougami looks up, runs a hand through his hair before holding it out towards Ginoza. “Does that make sense?” 

“Not really,” Ginoza says, taking Kougami’s hand and smiling at him anyway. “You’re weird, Kou.” 

“I’m weird? It takes one to know one, weirdo.” 

The sunlight settles atop them, the gentlest breeze brushing the sleeves of their shirts, and Kougami’s hand is light against Ginoza’s when he takes it. Ginoza would have thought Kougami would be more firm in his handholding. Maybe Kougami is nervous, too. Maybe Ginoza isn’t the only one who’s new at this. 

“I haven’t, you know, been with someone for a while,” Ginoza almost catches a tremble in Kougami’s tone when he speaks, “I guess I’m not sure how it works.” 

“You seem like the eager type, Kou.” 

“Looks can be deceiving, Gino.” 

Ginoza points out his favorite bench, and they ample slowly towards it, hands swinging, fingers interlaced. They sit close on the bench, Ginoza’s heart skipping as their knees brush against each other. 

Ginoza leans in, feeling not quite like himself, but also very right about it. 

“How have your psychiatrist appointments been?” 

Kougami sits back against the bench, looping one arm back behind Ginoza to settle it around his shoulders. Ginoza relaxes into the contact, notices vaguely how safe he feels near Kougami. 

“Fine. I like Dr. Tsunemori better.” 

“She is pretty much the best, don’t you think?” 

“I know it’s for the best that she stay in inpatient work but,” Kougami pauses, “it would be great if she went into private practice. I would pay to see her weekly if I could.” 

Ginoza looked up at the clouds, full of shapes and possibilities. “I know what you mean. I kind of feel like she’s rooting for us, though, no matter where she is.” 

“Strange how a little girl can be so inspiring.” 

“She’s not a little girl, Kou.” 

“She kind of is.” 

Ginoza rolls his eyes, lets it go. 

“How are your meds?” 

Kougami sighs. “I’m worried about the side effects, as usual. But I’m still taking them. Having my badge threatened was a big blow. I guess I knew how bad things were, but I don’t think I took seriously how it could affect other people.” 

“I know what you mean,” Ginoza nods, still fixated on the clouds. One rolls by that looks like a sailing boat. It makes Ginoza think of being by the ocean, reminds him to appreciate the breeze that keep sweeping his embarrassingly long bangs into his face. 

“Risa was so worried. She tried to hide it from me, but I know. I wouldn’t want to burden her with a loss, I guess.” 

“Suga flat out told me that I’m an idiot and he’ll kill me if I ever pull a stunt like that again.” 

Ginoza laughs. “I guess there’s a difference between cops and, uh, other people.” 

Kougami snorts from beside Ginoza, his chest rumbling a bit. Ginoza feels like he could enjoy the feeling forever. 

“We’re a little rough around the edges sometimes.” 

“I think you’re okay,” Ginoza says without thinking. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

They sit on the bench, basking the the sun and their freedom, for a long time.


	9. A Status Quo Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relapse; comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, I'm alive, so is this story - barely

As he lays in his bed under too many blankets, head ringing, Ginoza wonders if he was stupid for thinking he could get better. 

The hole in his heart has opened back up, as it always inevitably does. Is he crying? He might be crying. Something aches, his chest or his head or his eyes, he isn’t sure. He’s been taking his medication, sleeping as he should, avoiding the caffeine. Mostly, it has been enough. But not completely, not absolutely. There’s nothing more frustrating than doing everything right and still feeling stuck. 

_“Is something wrong?”_

Kougami, of course, notices something that’s off simply from the time it takes Ginoza to text him. 

_“No, it’s nothing.”_

It’s not nothing, he thinks. Why bother lying when Kougami already knows? But it’s too late to take it back now. 

_"?"_

Ginoza ignores the question mark, turns over on the bed, pulling the blankets around his neck. 

A message from someone else pops up just a few seconds later. On any other day, the vibration may have startled him, but today there isn’t enough energy for him to summon to be surprised. 

_“Spit it out, big guy, what’s wrong?”_

Oh great, just what he needs: Risa. Not that he is surprised. 

_“You know if you don’t answer I’ll just come over, so you gotta decide, my pal.”_

_“I’m fine.”_

_“Kougami says you aren’t answering your phone.”_

Ginoza frowns. Being with Kougami is wonderful, except for one of his similarities with Risa: he does not let up when he wanted something. Now they have joined forces. The problem, of course, is that depression doesn’t go away just because people love you. Risa would have crushed his depression years ago if that was the case. 

_“I don’t feel well.”_

_“What kind of not well?”_

_“Not the dangerous kind.”_ Ginoza knows it’s important to reassure her. He thinks about what he put her through, only weeks ago, and the ever-familiar guilt twists inside of him. She doesn’t mean to make it worse, but the guilt makes friends with the depression, both aiming to swallow him from the inside out. Guilt and sadness go together as well as he and Kougami, as inseparable as twins, or thunder and lightning. Integral pieces of the same storm.

He’s surprised that she hasn’t messaged him any more. Strangely, he feels like elaborating. 

_“Just the not-get-out-of-bed kind.”_

A few moments pass.

_“Kougami wants to know if he can bring you something to eat.”_

Ginoza almost smiles. Almost. _“What is this, a game of telephone?”_

He can almost see Risa smiling with triumph at her screen in his mind. 

_“You’re the one who wasn’t answering. Just text him back, then I won’t worry so much. Okay?”_

_“Fine.”_

He sighs, flips from the screen with Risa’s messages to Kougami’s. 

_“I haven’t eaten anything today. I’m not hungry, but I should probably eat.”_

_“ <3”_ is Kougami’s reply. 

Not long later, a knock sounds on the door. Ginoza had told him not to knock, it’s not like he has the energy to call out. 

“Gino, it’s me.” 

Barely, Ginoza manages to push the covers off of himself. He doesn’t manage to sit up. 

Kougami pokes his head in the bedroom door, bangs needing to be trimmed, Ginoza notices. His hair flies every which direction and his eyes glow in the dimmed apartment. He looks the same as ever, and it’s comforting. 

“I brought you a sandwich,” Kougami says softly. 

Ginoza is no longer surprised by Kougami’s gentleness. They’ve been seeing each other a few times a week since they’ve both been out of the hospital. The wild shine in Kougami’s eye has not faded, Ginoza has learned. It has merely been tamed, harnessed so that Kougami can use his energy in constructive ways. 

“Can I sit down?” Kougami says as he crosses the room to stand in front of Ginoza’s bed. 

Ginoza nods. 

“Did something happen?” Kougami says softly, reaching a hand to gently rest on Ginoza’s side. 

Ginoza expects his eyes to feel with tears, but they don’t. Quietly he says, “It’s just one of those days.” 

Kougami nods, understanding. “I’m sorry.” 

Ginoza bites his lip, nods awkwardly again. 

“Recovery isn’t linear.” 

“Did Dr. Saiga tell you that one?” Ginoza asks, an almost-smile tugging at his cheeks, as he looks up at Kougami. 

Kougami goes a tiny bit pink. “I told you I’ve been going to therapy,” he sniffs, closing his eyes as he turns away, only to open one of them a second later. “Wanna watch a movie?” He asks nonchalantly, as if everything is normal, as if Ginoza isn’t falling to pieces for no reason at all. 

Ginoza likes this about Kougami, that he knows not to fuss too much over him when the demons reawaken. It’s not like Ginoza needs the trouble of worrying about Kougami worrying, that vicious cycle that is more ironic than anything else. 

Ginoza sighs, relieved. This time he actually smiles. He doesn’t really care about a movie, but he cares about being close to Kougami, about not being alone. 

“Come on then,” Kougami reaches both hands out to take Ginoza’s, tugs him up from the bed.

They make their way to the living room, hand in hand, rest on Ginoza’s couch, Kougami’s arm draped soft but reassuringly over Ginoza’s shoulders. 

Something plays on his television screen, the details of which - including the title - escape him. The hollowness inside him, chewed away by his depression, doesn’t go away simply because Kougami is with him. Loving - although they haven’t called it this yet - someone doesn’t erase their mental illness. 

It’s been the same with Kougami, as well. Both Ginoza and Kougami are committed to their goals of staying out of the hospital. It’s good to have each other. 

“It seems like I won’t be able to do it,” Ginoza pipes up as he thinks, interrupting the movie. 

Kougami doesn’t bother to pause it, only turns the volume down. It plays behind them like radio static, but less invasive. He knows exactly what Ginoza means, and Ginoza is grateful for that. “Staying out of the hospital?” 

“Yeah.” 

Kougami looks up at the ceiling. “It feels impossible sometimes.” 

“And you’ve only been twice.” 

He doesn’t mean it, and he feels bad for saying it. 

Kougami scratches the back of his head, seems to consider this for a moment. “I know.” 

“How is work?” Ginoza changes the subject, searching for something outside of himself to distract him. 

“Mmm,” Kougami tuts, “it’s fine. I kind of miss the night shifts, the stakeouts, the excitement. But I gotta stay regulated,” he sighs. “It’s annoying.” 

“But necessary,” Ginoza replies. 

Kougami leans his head on Ginoza’s shoulder. “I know, I know.” 

“I wish it would just go away, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

The movie plays like background music without melody. Ginoza doesn’t feel like disappearing. He doesn’t feel like hurting himself. He doesn’t even feel numb. 

It’s hard to explain, the way depression manifests itself differently, depending on the circumstances. 

“It’s okay to have setbacks, though,” Kougami says, breaking their silence, as though reading Ginoza’s mind. 

“I know that,” Ginoza hopes it doesn’t sound harsh. 

“I know you know,” Kougami nuzzles Ginoza’s shoulder, unruly hair tickling Ginoza’s cheek slightly. Ginoza is glad to feel the sensation. “It just bears repeating.” 

Ginoza nods, knows Kougami can feel the affirmation. Kougami would know better than anyone. 

“Therapy sure has gotten through to you, hasn’t it?” Ginoza manages a tiny tease. 

“Nah,” Kougami answers simply, “I’m just repeating what’s been said to me.” 

“Still, at least you can remember it.” 

“I suppose. You should eat your sandwich.” 

Ginoza looks at the food sitting on the coffee table. He doesn't feel hungry, but he reaches for it anyway. He waits for this storm to pass, glad at least that he has someone to hunker down with, to see the lightning, hear the thunder. Someone who has seen it for themselves. He puts a hand on Kougami’s thigh, squeezes it. Kougami leans into Ginoza more. 

“Thank you,” Ginoza whispers. 

“Anything for you,” Kougami whispers back.


End file.
